After writing The Trail North, Hawk followed his passion for horses and mountainous landscapes farther north to the North Cascades National Park, where he apprenticed as a wrangler and ranch hand with the renowned Ray Courtney of the Cascade Corrals. He spent a winter in Sun Valley, Idaho, working on Mount Baldy and learning how to ski from the gathered assortment of ski bums.
While mastering one skill in one place, Hawk’s lifelong habit has been to always keep an eye out for the next challenge, the next terrain. While cherishing the view atop one mountain, he was seldom satisfied until he saw what was over the next one. The next terrain was the Colorado Rockies, where Hawk took up ranching, managing a large cattle and alfalfa ranch on the Colorado River between Grand Junction and Moab, Utah. Ever restless, Hawk began to take flying lessons, which he continued until he’d gained his commercial pilot’s license. With that paperwork in hand, he again followed the compass north to work as a bush pilot and hunting guide in Alaska. (The others hawks can only have been pleased with this turn of events.)
Seeking to broaden his formal education, Hawk pursued a BA in the Geography of Natural Resources at the University of Washington, then earned a Master’s from U.W.’s College of Forest Resources (now the School of Environmental and Forest Sciences). During the summers, he continued his bush-flying adventures, this time into the British Columbian rainforest.
Though ranching again lured him back Colorado, Hawk soon found himself working as an air-transport pilot, flying private Lear Jets. Today, he’s taking a bit of a breather and managing a series of back-country ski huts in the Elk Mountains near Ashcroft, Colorado.
We hope he’ll write another book. Or two. He’s got plenty of material. Meanwhile, The Trail North is a fascinating read.
Cocaine Heart Breakers, by Tia Kessler
He was the wolf I was the child. Trembling expectant shift of paradigm renewal smoky forests at the water’s edge. He was the wolf I trembled brave child too naive to be afraid. Cocaine heart breakers in the heartland of America. He was the wolf I was wide-eyed...
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Wash in the river To remove my sins, Blood-stained soul. Preacher man says I can’t go home. Well, I’ve bathed In every creek Across Kentucky Haven’t found one That set me free. So I’ve been walking for miles Down these dusty roads Looking to rest My weary soul....
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This short story was accepted for publication in the most recent issue of the online magazine the-were-traveler: "The Shadows Only Hide the Monsters—A Tribute to Edgar Allan Poe & H. P. Lovecraft" and has been graciously shared with readers at WARP Place....
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I don’t want to be that guy Found dead in his apartment in middle age Succumbed to self-indulgence Compelled by the very darkness That impelled him to succeed I’m no celebrity There’d be no shouting about it on every channel The newsfeeds would not be flush with...
Raymond Carver, The Art of Fiction, Paris Review 1983
Raymond Carver (1938–1988) was an major American short story writer and poet of the late 20th century and a major force in the revitalization of the American short story in literature in the 1980s. Article: Raymond Carver interviewed by Mona Simpson, Lewis Buzbee,...
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In recent years there have been louder and wider warnings about energy conservation, urging everyone to minimize consumption of resources by reducing the need for excessive energy use. Still, we consume. Still, we demand. We shop mindlessly, rampantly, grabbing sales...
Trip Teachings, by Ashley Carrithers
Today a lovely lady asked me what I learned from my mind trip experiences. I had informed her that I had enjoyed a few encounters with psychedelic drugs back in my younger daze, and was glad that I had because I learned some very, for me, evolutionary understandings....
Ripped, by Russell Fuller
The last time I came home ripped was supposed to be the last time I came home ripped. I can’t say I don’t know what I was thinking when thinking was the last thing on my mind. But I feel now like tumbling down to the square, scrambling up on some sort of soapbox, and...
We Are a NEW Community for Writers & Visual Artists — Please Join Us!
Having founded a school in the ’70s on a remote mountain ranch in northern California, we sometimes refer to ourselves as old hippies who, in addition to educating, building, gardening, river-tripping, and playing lots of volleyball, became environmental activists...








